


Decolonization

by Quality_Street_Sin



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: F/M, Gentle femdom, Idfic, Light Bondage, Oral, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Role Reversal, Shuri is 19, entirely idfic, facesitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quality_Street_Sin/pseuds/Quality_Street_Sin
Summary: Every attraction has its little extras, but in the palace in Birnin Zana, Princess Shuri has free pick of the VIPs.





	Decolonization

Shuri loved tourists.

Since they’d first started establishing connections with other places- California, Boston, China- she’d had easy access to a constant parade of them, herded through their cities like gawking, camera-clutching cattle, come to sunburn and complain to their snooty society friends about their fathers.

She currently had one in her lab.

“So,” she said, wondering if she’d beaten him down too hard by explaining her latest shot at remote driving. “Oxford, you said?”

The boy, the man- twenty to her nineteen, tall and blond and afflicted with an accent that sounded like a parody of itself- nodded.

“Where else would I go?” he said, shrugging well-muscled shoulders, evidence of time on the rowing team. “After Eton, one only has so many options.”

“You could come explore the palace,” she suggested, stepping closer, carefully stoking the tension between them. “With me.” She paused, titled her head toward the door, where one of the Dora waited, spear in hand. “And none of the guards.”

Archibald- an absurdity of a name, really, which suggested he’d come here to oogle the natives and hunt elephants- grinned. He already knew where she was taking him.

“Sounds great, your majesty.”

He’d paid hundreds of thousands for the privilege of doddering about the palace under armed guard, with an audio recording that announced things at various number-plaque-marked stations around the areas that were open to the public. Meeting Shuri was not part of the trip, but she liked this one.

Archibald was an utter relic of a boy, sculpted by the insular world of the British upper class. Shuri understood the concept of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth- Archie’s station put him more in the realm of a platinum-plated dining set. And she adored it. She wanted to tear that ridiculous Saint Laurent shirt off and get at the polo-produced prettiness beneath.

She studied him as they walked, making idle talk about the summer house and the horses and aahhhhksfurd, as he pronounced it. Drank in his darling body; the subtle suggestion of lean muscle beneath silk, the cherubic plush of his lips. His hair, strange and light and wispy, begging for fingers to yank the curls taught. All such soft power; billions held behind that boyishness. He looked as though he had been made by Michelangelo- that enchanting footnote in her education- and she was always ready to criticise art.   
They drew closer as she led him, intruding on the warmth of each other’s personal space. Their fingers grazed, his hands warmer than hers, and the anticipation of their meeting coalesced into something warmer, more urgent, swelling between her hip-bones.

“Welcome to the Green Room,” she said, breathy and low, a sure indication of what he had been suspecting.

The Green Room was, in theory, a guest suite. A four-poster teakwood bed dominated the space, the sheets folded back, as if even the furniture was waiting. Doors lead off from the main room to an en suite, kitchenette, and study. Those, right now, were of no interest.

“Not many people get to see this place,” Shuri said. She tested his boundaries- a hand on his shoulder, then cupping his face. “You’re a very lucky boy.”

“Clearly...” Archibald broke the sentence on a kiss, a tentative thing, as if he were afraid of her. “Your majesty-” he huffed against her lips, almost pleading, as the facade fell away- “your majesty, how on Earth have I earned this?”

“You haven’t.” Shuri stated bluntly, tugging the short, silky hairs at the nape of his neck. The sound he made in response was adorable, a little huff that was halfway between affirmation and complaint. “Not yet-” she kissed him, gently teasing, drawing away just as he moved to deepen it- “But you can.”

“Anything,” Archibald said, and no amount of time at ahhhhksfuhd could have prepared him for her, and she reveled in that. His blue eyes were wide, adoring. “Anything in the world.”

  
“Good,” Shuri rewarded him by moving in closer, kissing him again, exploring the sensation of his slightly-chapped lips with her own. “Listen to me, coloniser.”

She had to stand on tiptoe to graze his ear, leave smudges of lipstick. Press their bodies closer- delight in how he was melting into her, all soft and overwhelmed, except for the one place it really mattered.

“You will do everything I say,” more kissing, tempting, claiming, a hand drifting ever lower down the midline of his back, the other cupping a pectoral, thumbing his nipple until it hardened beneath the silk of his shirt. “Or you will call evacuation, and stop where we are.”

“Of course, your majesty.” he leaned close, clearly practiced, mouth advancing on the exposed skin of her neck- and froze, his fingers clasped around the zipper pull at the back of her dress, close enough that she could bask in the flushed heat of him. “May I?”

“No,” Shuri tugged his hands away, led him towards the bed by his wrists. His pulse jumped beneath her fingers. “Let me undress you. Then…” she tugged him down by his arms. “I want you on your knees.”

He dropped almost immediately, gazing longingly up at her. She could see how desperate he was to touch- to touch her, in his twitching fingers, to touch himself, in the tented linen of his trousers.

Poor, darling thing.

“Goodness,” Shuri said, reaching down to unbutton his shirt, loosen his tie. “You are needy.”

“On this bloody trip-” the tie was silk, low-grade enough that she had no qualms in using it to bind his wrists behind his back. “-There’s nobody around but us lads, and-”

She tugged his head back by those cherubic curls, exposing his throat. His hair was soft, fine.

“Do they not like you?” She turned his head, watching the shifting muscles in his neck as he swallowed. She kissed the stretched string of a tendon, bending to trace it from his ear to his breastbone.

“They- I don’t like any of them, your majesty,” his breath was hot against the crown of her head, and the warmth of it sank down the length of her spine, pinched in her lower abdomen.

“That’s a shame,” Shuri said. She leant ever so slightly out of his intimate bubble, and was delighted to see that he followed. “I think you’re just lovely.”

He smiled at that; the picture-perfect smile of a statesman-to-be melting into something sloppy and longing. In response, she spread her legs, hiking up thousands of dollars worth of skimpy skirt to do so, showing off.

“Please…” Archie shuffled forwards on his knees. He thought he knew what he was doing here. “May I fuck you?”

She cupped his cheek, grinning devilishly down at him.

she cupped his cheek, grinning devlishly down at him, running her fingers over the roughness of sparse stubble.

“No.” she said laconically. “Prove yourself first.”

His frustration showed. Chances were, he'd never been denied before. Let alone by a girl, let alone by a girl who looked like her.

"But, your majesty-"

"Either on my terms," Shuri said, tugging her skirt back down. "Or not at all, boy. I don't take well to defiance."

He chewed a plush, pink lip.

"Let me redeem myself, your majesty." he begged her, sculpted eyebrows furrowing. "Anything. Anything in the world."

In response, Shuri patted the bedspread beside her, and watched him scramble awkwardly to his feet. She pinned him back against the olive-coloured undersheets, plainly ignoring his stiff cock, and straddled his chest. He was warm beneath her, solid, and she considered just beginning her grinding there and then; to muss him up and humiliate him further.

His heartbeat jumped beneath her.

She rose, and moved upwards still, until the ripe wells of his lips brushed her labia, and he exhaled the soft sound of his realisation.

English boys, ahksfuhd boys were always a gamble- the horrid clunky language did not lend itself to a delicate touch; there was probably a correlation there, simply through the biology of the mouth-

The first tentative touch. cooler than she was, wet, probing for purchase. She rocked into the contact, not as gentle- he was utterly undeserving of her patience, and she wanted to make the most of him.

"You could at least try," she said, and that brought a palpable heat to his cheeks. He couldn't exactly apologise, so he made it up to her in contact- a pressing kiss to her vulva, then lifting his head to mouth as much of her minora as possible, sucking back, dragging his lips along the loose skin.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, she tilted her hips into the motion.

"Adequate," she encouraged, fighting to keep the bliss from her voice as he explored her, taunting, almost.

He changed focus, that silver tongue slipping to focus on her clit. The languid licking grew faster; sparked a new sort of spreading warmth.

"Good, good," she breathed, running fingers through his hair. "You know your place, coloniser."

If his hands had been free, he would have been using them...

She cast a glance over her shoulder, amused by the desperate little squirms of his hips. He'd get his turn soon enough, she'd decided, but he didn't know that. For the time being, he existed only for her use. He couldn't even touch her, except for where she'd explicitly decided he should.

Every ounce of power was in her hands. And lord above did she adore it.

He keened against her, suddenly more frantic, drawing a swollen strength to the heat between her legs. The muscles in her thighs fluttered, the first involuntary movement of the evening. Archie stumbled upon a rhythm and was clever enough to know when to keep going, and Shuri pressed closer, moving her hips in its exact mirror image, to maximise the value of each tiny stroke.

It was his handiwork that brought her, panting, to the peak of pleasure, and sent her tumbling into the convulsive glory of its end result. They were both drenched with sweat, the Egyptian cotton of the sheets damp beneath them, but she was too caught up in the wave of warmth that followed orgasm to really mind.

She moved to kneel beside him instead, the bedsprings suddenly audible beneath his gasping.

"You did wonderfully," she said, patting his head "Are you ready for your reward?"

He tried and failed to wipe his mouth on the sun-gold skin of his arm, blond hairs standing out in the light.

"Whenever you are, your majesty.”

 


End file.
